This story is going to be Prussia/Romano, but there will be some minor Germany/Italy, France/Spain, past Spain/Romano and soon to be over France/Prussia in the background. The rating is for language.
A thousand thanks to Gemini Artemis for being my beta and for the endless support! I wouldn't have written this story if it wasn't for her.
SEEING IS BELIEVING
Chapter 1
The house was completely silent except for the sound of Prussia scratching his butt. Usually there was always something going on; Italy's house tended to be full of life, talking, laughing, crying and things breaking. Now it was all gone because Italy had dragged Germany out on a walk. Just the two of them.
Prussia had had to face the very difficult dilemma of whether he should tag along so that he could annoy them or let them go alone so that he could bug Germany with his lewd comments when they came back with ruffled hair and clothes. He had eventually settled for the second option, though it was mostly because he figured it was less likely to result in Germany forbidding him from ever again coming to visit Italy with him. And Prussia would very much like to keep visiting Italy in the future. He was cute.
Prussia sighed and turned to stare at the ceiling as he lay on the couch. Germany and Italy had left only five minutes ago, and he was already bored out of his mind.
There was the sudden sound of the door being opened and slammed shut.
"Back already?" Prussia asked as he lifted himself up to lean on his elbows. "Couldn't last any longer, eh, West? Itakins, if you want to have a real –"
But instead of his brother and that cute little Italy, it was actually the not so cute Italy's brother standing at the door, face red, sour and angry like he had just bitten into a raw tomato.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Romano asked, as if Prussia's very existence was a sore sight to his eyes.
"Nice to see you, too. And what are you doing here?" Prussia asked.
"I live here!" Romano snarled.
"Yeah, but Italy said you'd be with Spain for the weekend," Prussia said.
"I was, and, well.." Romano started to say, but then he cut himself off. "I don't need to explain myself to you! It's my home and I can come and go as I please! So get the fuck off that couch before you spread your disgusting potato germs all over it and I have to burn it!"
"Did Spain kick you out? No wonder if he did. I know he's stupid, but I doubt even he has the patience to listen to your pitiful rants all the time," Prussia said with a cackle. He always liked it when Romano lost his temper, which happened pretty much every time they said a word in each other's presence. It was most amusing to watch the angry blush spread on Romano's face and hear him sputter angry nonsense until he stumbled over his words and became even more flustered.
Romano pressed his lips into a tight line; his shoulders trembled. Prussia felt his grin widen – his entertainment was coming.
But then, without another word, Romano turned his back on him and marched upstairs. Prussia stared after him even when the sound of a door being slammed shook the house and made one of Italy's paintings fall off the wall.
"Huh," was all that he said. Whatever had happened with Spain had to have upset Romano more than usual.
Prussia crossed his hands behind his head and fell on his back on the couch. Now he was bored again.
Romano slammed his bedroom door shut behind him, panting through gritted teeth. That... that bastard! What right did he have to lie on their couch like he fucking owned it? He hated Prussia almost as much as he hated Germany. All that made Prussia slightly more tolerable was that he wasn't screwing Veneziano and stealing all of his time.
Goddammit. Romano wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and collapsed on his bed. The last thing he needed now was knowing that Veneziano was off somewhere with that idiot. He had been hoping that he and his brother could be alone and cook something to get his mind off everything, but now the house was infested with Germans.
He buried his face into his pillow and felt lonely and miserable. Just his luck, now Veneziano would be so enamoured with the blond sack of muscles that he'd never notice that something was bothering his brother. And if Veneziano didn't notice it on his own, that was the end of the story because Romano wasn't going to tell him without prodding.
He was momentarily distracted from his thoughts when his stomach let out a low growl. Right, he hadn't actually got to eat anything at Spain's house before he had stormed out. He wondered if they had served anything on the plane. He sure couldn't remember.
Romano got up and wiped his face until he hoped he looked normal again. He should go to the kitchen and cook something, but he realised he didn't want to do it if Prussia was still there. And he most certainly would be because he was like an ugly stain that didn't get off no matter how many times you washed the shirt.
Damn this, Romano thought. This was his house, too. He could do whatever he wanted. He had no reason to feel intimidated by that albino failure who didn't know when it was time to stop existing. Veneziano hadn't asked him if he could invite Prussia over, so Romano was under no obligation to be civil to him.
Encouraged by these truths, Romano wrenched his door open and stomped back downstairs. Prussia was still lying on the couch, one leg dangling over the backrest.
"Well, look who's back. Couldn't be separated from me for long, huh?" Prussia commented.
"Shut up," Romano growled. Crying upstairs had released most of his anger, and now he just felt exhausted and too wary to start yelling at Prussia. He wasn't worth the effort anyway.
He was hoping that Prussia would stay on the couch now that he had made it into his castle, but it really wasn't Romano's day. He didn't get to do more than open one of the cupboards in the kitchen before he was interrupted by that annoying, raspy voice.
"Great, I was starting to get hungry," Prussia said.
"I'm not cooking for you!" Romano snapped. He turned around just in time to see Prussia pull himself a chair and sit on it the wrong way, leaning his arms and head on the backrest.
"You're the host. I'm the guest. You have to cook for me." Prussia was grinning now, and it was enough to make Romano's blood boil.
"You're not my guest. I didn't invite you. So get the hell out of here before I throw a kettle at you. Which you totally deserve anyway," he said.
"Hey, don't be like that. Now that West and your brother are gone, we only have each other for company. We should use it to our advantage."
"And do what?" Romano asked in suspicion, glancing to his side to make sure the kettle was there if he needed it.
Prussia let out a shrill cackle at the sight of him. "Look at your face! I know exactly what you're thinking!" He buried his face into his arms as he laughed, and Romano felt the noise send shivers down his spine.
"Shut up! Idiot!" he snarled.
Prussia looked at him with an amused smirk. "Hehe, no need to blush like that. You aren't nearly as cute as Italy, so don't worry. Besides, you're Spain's boytoy, and if I want to keep being invited to his –"
Romano grabbed the kettle and hurled it at Prussia. The former nation had time to raise his hands to protect his face, but he was still caught in the corner of his left eye.
"Ow! What the hell was that for?" he asked as he jumped to his feet.
"Shut up and leave me alone!" Romano snarled. He wasn't thinking clearly, and his shaking hand was already fumbling for the frying pan that he knew was there. Somewhere under the anger he knew that it wasn't Prussia's fault he was feeling so miserable, but he had to take it out on someone, and Prussia had asked for it.
Thankfully, the front door was opened and Veneziano's happy voice was heard before Romano had the chance to introduce Prussia's face to any other kitchen appliances.
"Hey, Romano! I didn't know you'd be here. I thought you'd be with Spain this weekend. And huh, why is Prussia's eye swelling shut?" Veneziano asked as he entered the kitchen. Romano was more than irritated to notice that not all buttons of his shirt were actually buttoned.
"He had an accident. Fucking idiot. Always talking about the glory of his battles, but anyone can see he has no reflexes and sucks at defence!" he said sulkily.
"Maybe I wasn't expecting to get a kettle thrown at me when I'm a guest here," Prussia said. He removed his hand from the corner of his eye and hissed at the pain, even as the smirk on his face refused to fade. "Good throw, though. But not as good as mine would be."
"What's going on here?" came another voice as Germany entered the kitchen.
"Romano and Prussia are throwing things at each other," Veneziano said.
"Why?" Germany asked and directed a scrutinizing glare towards Prussia.
"Hey, I didn't get to throw anything yet! He started it!" Prussia protested at once.
"You must have done something to provoke him. You always do," Germany said. When Prussia opened his mouth to argue, Germany silenced him with one stare.
"You really should have that looked at," Veneziano said and pointed at the bruise that was quickly forming on Prussia's face.
"That's a good idea. Itakins, you do it!" Prussia said eagerly.
"I'll do it while you keep quiet," Germany said.
"Don't be so hard on him," Veneziano said, and Romano almost wanted to punch him. Was Veneziano really so oblivious that he kept fawning over that stinking piece of Teutonic garbage and didn't even notice that something was wrong with his brother?
"Yeah, listen to Italy. All I did was say that he's Spain's –"
"Shut up about Spain!" Romano snapped, then instantly wished that he hadn't.
All eyes were suddenly on him, though everyone had a different expression. Veneziano was frowning in worry, Germany in confusion, and Prussia's self-satisfied grin had never looked more aggravating.
"See? What did I tell you? He's totally nuts," Prussia said.
"Romano, what's wrong?" Veneziano asked. Under other circumstances, Romano might have told his brother all about it, given that there was first pasta and enough prodding from Veneziano. But he was most certainly not going to say a word as long as those two were here.
"Nothing," he grumbled.
"It can't be nothing if you almost took out my brother's eye because of it," Germany commented.
"You shut up! I don't need to tell you anything," Romano said. He suddenly felt like everyone was against him, and the last thing he wanted was to stay there and let them lecture at him in his own kitchen.
Thankfully, Germany wasn't blocking the entrance anymore, so Romano used this chance to march out and stomp back to his room upstairs.
"Hey, where are you going, Romano? I was just going to start cooking dinner. Won't you help me?" Veneziano called after him.
"I'm not hungry!" Romano yelled over his shoulder.
An hour later, Romano was still sulking in his room. He could smell that Veneziano was cooking pasta downstairs, and his stupid stomach refused to stop grumbling. He wouldn't go downstairs, though, no matter how hungry he was.
The others were probably having a great time. Romano could just imagine them laughing and eating their pasta, having completely forgotten about him. Maybe they were even happy that he wasn't there to ruin the atmosphere. Well, if that's what they wanted, they'd get it. Romano was never going downstairs again. He'd starve and die and maybe then Veneziano would feel guilty and wish he had been a better brother to him.
His self-pity was making him feel very satisfied, so he was almost annoyed when there was a sudden knock on his door.
"Romano, can I come in?" Veneziano asked. He tried to open the door without waiting for an answer, but it was locked. "Romano, please open the door."
"Why should I?" Romano asked.
"Because I want to talk to you. And I brought you some pasta," Veneziano said.
"But I don't want to talk to you," Romano said, even as he was already walking to the door to unlock it. Damn his stupid, traitorous stomach.
He tried to just grab the pasta and close the door again, but Veneziano slipped in with surprising stealth and took a place on Romano's bed, crossing his legs under him. The look on his face was more serious than usual, and Romano knew that half the reason why he had brought the pasta was that Veneziano had known he had to trick his way into his room.
"So, Romano -" Veneziano started.
"Are those two gone?" Romano asked.
"Huh? No, they're watching TV," Veneziano said. "Poor Prussia is going to have a nasty bruise tomorrow."
"Good," Romano said.
"What was it that he said to you?" Veneziano asked. Romano had known he would, but he had wished that he'd wait long enough for him to come up with a good lie. Since he hadn't yet, he opted for sitting down on the floor and turning all his attention to the plate in his hands.
"Shut up. I'm eating," he grumbled and stuffed pasta into his mouth.
He felt Veneziano's eyes on him as he ate. Romano did his best to ignore it, but his brother could be a powerful presence when he put his mind to it. He knew he should have been glad that Veneziano was there to talk to him, but he couldn't help but be in a sour mood. He had wanted to have his brother for himself and not have to share him with anyone when he was feeling so down.
"Are you feeling better now?" Veneziano asked when Romao put the empty plate aside.
Romano crossed his arms on his chest and turned to glare away.
"Good," Veneziano said happily. "Then you can tell me what's bothering you."
"Nothing's bothering me," Romano said.
"Then why did you throw a kettle at Prussia?" Veneziano asked.
"Because he's an idiot and deserved it!"
Veneziano was quiet for a moment. "Romano, what happened between you and Spain?" he then asked.
"Nothing," Romano said, and he hated it how his body needed only that one word to betray him. His cheeks were aflame; his voice a tad higher than usual, and he was sure that if he started thinking too hard about everything that he had said and done, he might cry. Hell, it was actually pretty damn likely. He drew up his knees and hugged them closer to his body.
"You shouldn't keep it to yourself. You should talk about it. I think it's going to make you feel better than throwing things at Prussia," Veneziano said.
Romano wasn't so sure. Throwing things at Prussia was pretty satisfying. However, doing so required that he was in the same room as the former nation, and he was feeling even less up to that than usual.
"Spain is..." he started, feeling his chest ache when he said the nation's name. He really didn't want to talk about this, he realised, but maybe it would be for the best to get it over with and just tell Veneziano before he learnt it from someone else. All of Europe was bound to know soon.
"Spain and I are no longer together," he blurted out. He buried his face against his knees, so he didn't see Veneziano's reaction.
"What? What happened?" Veneziano asked in surprise.
"It's not important," Romano said, his voice muffled.
"Did Spain do something? Did he say something mean to you?" Veneziano asked, and Romano could hear uncharacteristic anger in his voice.
"He didn't do anything wrong. He's just a fucking idiot," he said, and the tightness in his throat was making it painful to speak. He almost wished he'd just start bawling his eyes out so that he could have it over with.
"What happened?" Veneziano asked.
Romano said nothing. He wasn't sure if he could ever put into words what he was feeling. Was there any way to describe the painful knot of doubt that had been stuck inside him for weeks now, getting more and more tangled with every moment he spent with Spain?
Spain had done nothing wrong, ever. Or if he had, he hadn't meant it. Every time Romano had felt miserable or insecure, Spain had hugged him close, smiled at him and said that everything was going to be fine. It had been wonderful at first, to have someone who didn't push you away when your behaviour was at your worst and when you couldn't stop spitting out hurtful words.
But slowly Romano had started to realise that nothing ever changed. Spain made him feel better for a while, but they never talked about what was causing him that much pain and discomfort. It was like sweeping the floor and hiding all the dirt under the carpet. It was gone for a while, but sooner or later someone moved the carpet and revealed the truth to everyone.
Romano couldn't take the initiative; when he tried, his throat closed up and he always said the exact opposite of what he wanted. There had been so many times when he had just wished that Spain would be a little more perceptive and really ask what was wrong instead of snuggling up close and murmuring something sweet against his neck.
But it wasn't Spain's fault, not really. Romano couldn't help it that it was so difficult for him to express his feelings. He couldn't blame Spain for doing what he thought was right.
"Romano, what happened?" Veneziano asked again.
"Nothing," Romano said. "We just... we decided to have a break."
More like he had just snapped and told Spain that he couldn't take it anymore and that he was fucking tired of it all and how Spain never did anything to help him. He faintly recalled Spain trying to calm him down, as he always did, but he had said something worse, and then... And then Spain's patience had run out as well. It didn't happen often, but when it did, Spain became like a different person, the nation who had conquered foreign lands and brought ancient civilizations to their knees.
Romano couldn't remember the exact words that they exchanged then. Everything was a blur up to the moment that he had returned home and found out that Prussia had claimed their couch as his. However, even if the words weren't clear on his mind, the tone they had used and the anger and hurt in Spain's eyes were.
"Aww, I'm sure it's going to work out," Veneziano said.
It was Romano's full intention to just acknowledge his brother's words with a dismissive hum. That was all he wanted to do. But the ache inside him decided to grow unbearable at that exact moment, and he couldn't stop the sob that shook his body. He hugged his knees closer and cried against them, unable to stop even when Veneziano came to hug him.
It wasn't going to be alright this time, Romano knew.
"Really, I wish you'd even try to behave at least once in your life," Germany said.
"I didn't do a thing. Italy's brother is just crazy," Prussia said.
"Then you should know better than to irritate him," Germany remarked.
"Oh, so you're saying this was all my fault? "Prussia asked and pointed at the swollen corner of his eye that was making it pretty damn difficult to see something with his left eye.
"No, but you aren't exactly innocent," Germany said with an impatient sigh. He looked like he wanted to add something, but then they became aware of the muffled sounds of crying that came from upstairs.
Germany promptly turned up the volume on the TV so that they wouldn't have to acknowledge it.
Italy came back downstairs some time later. He was alone, and he looked considerably more melancholy than was usual. Prussia didn't think it had been that bad even that one time when they had realised that nobody had been to the store and they had no cheese for their pizza.
"Is everything alright?" Germany asked as Italy took a seat by him on the couch.
"Romano isn't feeling that good," Veneziano said sadly.
"I should hope so. After what he did to me, he deserves to feel terrible," Prussia said, hoping to get some sympathy out of Italy.
Italy turned to look at him curiously. "Huh, are you still talking about that? With the way you're always bragging about how getting shot in war never slowed you down, you're sure taking one bruise pretty seriously," he said innocently, earning an amused snort out of Germany.
Prussia wondered if his cute little Italy was actually capable of hidden insults or whether he was just being clueless. The time he spent pondering it cost him the chance to come up with an awesome come-back line, so he all he could do was cross his hands behind his back and turn his attention back to the TV.
